We've got time
by Rose of Brisingr
Summary: No. he says mildly and is not even surprised about his own answer. "Sleep as long as you want. We've got time." - Slight Thorki.


Why does he constantly catapults himself in such silly situations?

This question Loki asks himself, while he disapprovingly stares at the head, which is cozy nestled in his lap and snores loudly. When two slender, pale hands seek him force away carefully, he hears an annoying hum like a sleeping predator from the grown man. Unmistakably a muscular arm, heavy from sleep, is wrapped around the waist of its occupant making a deviation impossible.  
Thor stays where he is.  
Of course, the son of Odin does not move when he **does not want to move**. It's the usual motto.

_Damn it!_

Loki sighs.  
Bored, he directs his gaze upwards and immediately squints his eyes hiding from the glaring light.

The sun hangs high in the sky and pours her wild strands scattered on his thighs in glowing forge. The bearded face of the thundergod rolls lazily in the trouser material, scrapes noisily. Nevertheless, the quiet breathing bounces unusually hot and evenly on the skin located underneath. His brother curses himself, however, probably the thirteenth time in a row.

He did not want to come along, as Thor asked him barely two hours ago, if he would accompany him to a hunting trip to Vanaheim.  
He did not want to!  
Because he hates hunting and he hates it especially when mad Thor does not give in until he has shot the best, the most magnificent, the _royal_ stag.  
He always has to be the leader in the competition and woe if not ...  
Then flash of lightning between the clouds surges above the earth.

But today Thor's heart is as light and peaceful as the gentle breeze that Loki gives gossamer cooling in the buzz of the summer, only to disappear quickly like a thief at midnight. Loki closes his eyes and settles his head against the tree trunk in his back.  
In the distance he can hear the flutter of spreading wings and bright chirping of innumerable throats. Longing germinates in his chest like a seed watered by a salty teardrop. His favorite dream was to do it like the birds.  
Fly, feel the wind cling to his clothes. Go away.

Go away ... would he ever come back?

Loki considers. Thinks. Shortly. In his mind he shakes his head.

He does not know.

But probably he never needs to know. Since he is able to think he lives in a golden cage and he has been lifted there quite well. He is a prince and languishes life in a way others desire in their wildest dreams. Therefore he has no good reason to submerge in darkness and fog and to go on sparser plains. Not even one.  
And yet Loki feels hypnotized by the great unknown outside the golden lines of Asgard. He is inquisitive and over the years uneasiness drives him in the shady recesses of his well known home.  
Asgard is not enough. He wants to see more. Hear more. Smell and taste more. Experience everything which is willing to be given to him.

But how can he experience all this, if he is withered within the palace walls or on trips like these caught without rhyme or reason?  
It is cruel to see the endless forests when heknows he'll be soon crammed back in fine marble buildings.  
Like a horse that gets a ride for a limited time to graze in the pasture. In the evening it just stares again into the interior of the same old barn.

It is sad. It is harmful. It is routine.

Under him he hears word fragments, wrapped in a studded rumble and Loki looks alerted to his midsection. Less than two seconds later, he frowns.  
Oh, of course. There's still Thor. He almost forgot. ( crown prince. Horryfying, how can he?)

With rare delicacy Loki strokes through his brother's dozing mane, ensuring lasting sleep.

He knows Thor. Maybe even better than Thor knows himself. And Loki knows with certainty that the God of Thunder would not be particularly happy to see his little brother leaving into the unknown.  
Why? Well, he has always been terribly sentimental ...

Loki's touches are soft and durable. Because of them Thor strengthens his grip again, takes a rattling breath.  
Loki twisted in the mind's eyes. His mistake. He should have guessed it. It always seems to be **his** mistake.  
However, he is not exceptionally angry. Not this time. This time it's different. A little bit.

Why does he constantly catapults himself in such silly situations?

He cannot tell. And even less, he can explain it.  
But maybe, just maybe there is someone who beseechingly stretches out his hand to him through the bars of their golden cage. And Loki takes it. He takes it over and over again, even if he thereby locking the door to the worlds once more behind him. But what shall he do otherwise? He is not able to leave him alone.  
Why? Why does he do this? Why such spontaneous self-sacrifice? (Is his happiness not as important as his brother's?)

It's simple. Shockingly simple. At least for Loki. And Loki's thoughts are rarely simplistic.

Because he is the only one who felt the tremor of his brother's fingers, when he encloses them with his. Because he is the only one who recognizes the nagging Please in the saphire eyes, so strong, yet so delicate.

These gorgeous, stubborn eyes, he sometimes loves more than his own life.

They blink at him now, lazily hidden under thick blond lashes. Pattern him with trust, with satisfaction. Almost lovingly naive.

"Should I get up?" Thor asked yawning, although he really does not look as if he would want to give up his recently conquered favorite place in the next few hours.

Loki knows that. And he needs to force himself not to laugh.

¨No.¨ he says mildly and is not even surprised about his own answer. "Sleep as long as you want. We've got time."


End file.
